The Christmas Shoes
by scarlett2112
Summary: "In the end, it's not the years in your life that count. It's the life in your years." This is my take on 'This Is My Escape's' prompt for the annual Christmas A2A exchange on LJ. See prompt inside.


_This is written for Kate aka 'This Is My Escape". As I'm sure you all know, she's a very talented DE storyteller._

 _This is her prompt:_

 _"I'm an angst-addict. I don't have a super specific prompt, do whatever you want, but I'm craving for someone to take my heart in their hand and crush it. Make me cry big, fat crocodile tears with your words. Make me need to take a break so that I need to calm down before continuing on, and then I want to cry again when it ends on a heartbreakingly beautiful note, fluffy or tragic, it's your call. Basically, just make it painful. Please"_

 _Well Kate, I do hope this meets your expectations._

* * *

"Come on, coach, just give me a chance."

"How many times do I have to tell you, Salvatore, you're not a runner."

"I know you want Stefan to try out for track. Maybe if you let me on the team, I can convince him to join too."

With an exaggerated sigh, the coach turns around to look at me again. "Fine, I'll give you a shot but I expect you to try to get your brother to join in too."

"Thank you, Coach Saltzman, you won't regret this." I hurry over to him, take his hand in mine and shake it animatedly. I'm so happy to be able to try out for the team. Knowing that I have my work cut out for me to try to convince Stefan to join too, I run off to go to look for him.

* * *

After putting on my lucky shoes, I walk over to the starting block. The only thing I really wanted for Christmas last year was a pair of authentic running shoes. They were quite expensive so I told my parents that the shoes were all I wanted. Santa Claus delivered making me the happiest kid on the planet the moment I realized what was hiding beneath the reindeer-themed Christmas paper. Smiling at the memory, I'm shaken from my reverie when I feel a hand on my shoulder. Ric gives me a last minute pep talk before walking off of the track.

Antsy for the race to start, I'm bouncing around while I wait for the referee to tell us to take our mark. I'm running against the reigning state champion in the two mile cross country run. My coach keeps telling me that I'm not built to be a runner but I intend to show him that I am a runner. When I raise my eyes to bleachers, I smile widely when I see my girlfriend, Elena, waving at me excitedly. I love her so much and we've been together since our freshman year of high school, having met when I nearly ran her over rushing to get to one of my classes. After slinging a few colorful metaphors at me, she calmed down and let me take her out to make up for my faux pas. We've been together ever since. Someday, I do intend to marry my girl.

Finally the ref tells us to take our marks so I assume the runners position and wait for the start. As soon as I hear the crack of the starting gun, I take off, picking up a steady pace. I pass one guy and then another yet I still find myself in the middle of the pack. The run traverses the foothills east of Albuquerque. Knowing that I can push myself harder, I up my game, smiling when I finally pass state champ, Kol Mikaelson, giving him a mock salute as I do. When I finally come around the hill inside the far turn of the course, I maintain my stride, although I'm a little confused when I hear the announcer saying, "Here comes Mikaelson."

Knowing that I passed him, I just keep doing what I'm doing, hoping to reach the finish line first.

"That's not Mikaelson, it's Salvatore," is shouted aloud just as I make the final turn, pushing as hard as I can. As soon as I cross the finish line, I raise my hands in triumph, raising my index finger to Elena who's sitting beside my parents.

"Salvatore stuns with an upset. Having left a field of startled runners behind, he sets a new meet record." When I hear that pronouncement blare over the loud speaker, I pump my fist in front of me. Once I catch my breath and after a congratulations from Coach Saltzman, one of our local TV reporters walks over, asking if he can have a few words with me. After emptying a bottle of water, I nod my head.

"Congratulations Damon."

"Thank you," I pant, still a little out of breath from the run.

"You set a new meet record. How does that feel?"

"It feels pretty darn good."

"What had happened on the far side of the hill?" he asks, sticking the microphone back in my face.

"Halfway through the race when I was still some distance behind the leaders, I just had to ask myself if I could do better. I didn't know but I focused on the back of the runner immediately in front of me and closed my mind to everything else. The only thing that mattered was to catch and pass that runner and then go after the next one. Somewhere inside of me, I felt a surge of energy, adrenaline, hope, I don't know but it consumed me. I kept pushing myself, ignoring the pain and fatigue in my muscles. I just kept going, striving to push myself stronger, harder and faster till I crossed the finish line. You know what happened next, I collapsed." Taking another deep slog of my drink, I look down at my skinned knees. I'm so pumped with adrenaline that I don't even feel the pain.

"Great race, Damon. Thank you for speaking to us today."

"No prob...," I start to say when I'm nearly knocked over by my beautiful Elena. When I turn to face her, she throws her arms around my neck and kisses me soundly.

"I'm so proud of you baby," she squeals, hugging me tightly.

"I'm kind of proud of me too. I love you, Elena."

"I love you too," she whispers, pressing her lips to mine.

* * *

Elena:

As the track season progressed, Coach Saltzman entered Damon in a number of other events, and always the result was the same. Once on the track, my modest, fun-loving teen-aged boyfriend became a fierce, unrelenting competitor. He ran with his heart and quite simply, he wouldn't allow himself to lose. By the end of our junior year, Damon had broken five state track records, and during his senior year he was proclaimed the finest miler ever developed in the state. He was not yet 18.

In the fall following our graduation, Damon and I entered the University of New Mexico in Albuquerque and stepped up his training. Each morning, he'd rise with the sun, running through city streets, parks and golf courses, sometimes as much as twenty to twenty five miles a day, all in addition to daily varsity workouts. The training paid off in spades. In cities such as Tulsa, Santa Fe and Salt Lake City, wherever the New Mexico Lobos competed, Damon was constantly confounding the so-called experts by picking off other favored to win runners. By the time we reached our junior year, our team faced one of the most feared track teams in the country. When they descended on Albuquerque for the meet, the prognosticators predicted doom and gloom for the 'Lobos'. All bets were on the opposing team's runners.

As always, Damon took his time starting out slow before starting to move forward again, watching one guy's back become another guys back. By the time they reached the third lap, Damon caught up with the leader. Not wanting to surrender the lead, the other guy collided with him. He struggled hard to stay on his feet, losing yardage as the other guy once again moved into the lead while a couple of other runners passed Damon. With a little more than three hundred yards to go, Damon kicked it up, passing one and then the next, finally reaching Parker and inching ahead. With both arms raised, he broke the tape having crossed the finish line a mere five seconds ahead of Kai Parker. Our team, inspired by Damon's come from behind victory, swept every one of the remaining events, sending a demoralized opposing team to their worst defeat in the last twenty five years.

"Congratulations son," Damon's dad says, pulling him into a one armed hug.

"Thanks dad."

"We're so proud of you, Damon," my dad adds, shaking Damon's hand excitedly. Since I had to use the little girl's room, I finally reach him. Running into his arms, I press a heady kiss to his lips.

"Hey baby," he greets me, his smile a mile wide.

"You did it! I'm so happy for you."

"I'm happy too. I'm going to shower and change, I'll meet you back here in little bit. Then we'll go home and have a private celebration of our own," he whispers, his lips teasing my earlobe. When he pulls away, he puts his flirt on, using his eye thing to taunt me before turning around and walking towards the locker room. Feeling a surge of lust race up my spine, I stealthily tighten my legs together. Damon and I eloped on the spur of the moment one crazy afternoon. Our parents wanted to murder us for not letting them throw us a big wedding. I don't know, it just felt right. As soon as I mentioned it, Damon was gung ho, wasting no time in driving us to a Justice of the Peace.

When he strolls out of the locker room, looking all suave and debonair despite the tee shirt and jeans he's clad in, I nearly melt. Taking my hand in his, he laces our fingers together and the two of us leave the stadium. Finding our car, we drive away, his fingers entwined with mine the whole way home.

Once he parks the car, we race up the stairs, slamming the door shut as soon as we get inside our little apartment. Damon wastes no time peeling off first mine and then his clothes before he picks me up, throwing me over his shoulder and racing to our bedroom. As soon as he drops me down, he growls and crawls on top of me, pressing his groin intimately against my core. He smacks his lips to mine, teasing the seam of my lips with his tongue till I relent and open my mouth. He thrusts it inside, his warring with my own.

It's a battle of wills but I finally win the duel of the tongues, biting onto his gently so as not to hurt him. He pulls back, his pupils blown, gasping aloud when I wrap my hand around the satiny steel of his erection. Having had lots of practice, I work him with a rhythm he loves. Soon he's on his back, his hips writhing and raising of their own accord. Placing one hand over my own, he helps me take him over the edge. I'm completely enraptured when I see a look of unparalleled pleasure wash over his face at the same time he lets go, howling his release with my name on his lips.

Once he gets his bearings back, he rolls me onto my back and takes his place between my legs, his head at the juncture of my thighs. When his talented tongue takes its first swipe at my already engorged clit, my hips raise off the bed. As his tongue works me into a frenzy, he pumps two fingers inside, plunging them in and out but it's when he strokes my front wall that I release spectacularly, my mind and body taken to a place of bright colors and hot flashes. When I waft back down to earth, I open my eyes only to be greeted by that irresistibly sexy smirk that he's perfected. He ought to apply for a patent on that smirk.

He gently presses his lips to mine. Using his hands, he tilts my head allowing him to deepen the kiss. While my lips and mind are in another world where only he and I exist, he pushes inside of me. I pull back with a gasp of unrivaled ecstacy. When he's inside of me, it's like we're one as I have no perception of where he begins and I end. He pulls out and thrusts back in, his hips piston to meet my own as I raise them in tandem with his forward strokes. When I see the sweat beginning to bead on his brow, I reach up to cup his face, pulling his lips to mine once more. Our kiss is heady, full both love and the promise of forever. I love this man with every fiber of my being. He pulls out and I pout, jutting my lower lip out so far a bird could light a perch on it. As always, he mesmerizes me with his sexy smirk before helping me onto my hands and knees.

"Put your hands on the headboard baby," he breathes, his hot breath teasing the sensitive spot behind my ear. My body quivers in need as I obey, planting my fingers firmly on the wood. Wasting no time, he plunges two fingers inside of me, stroking and stretching and making me all the more hot and bothered as moans and heady gasps escape my mouth. He leans over my body, pressing kisses behind my ear, down the back of my neck and on each bump of my spine. He pulls his fingers from me and presses them to my lips.

"Taste," he pants. Feeling the head of his cock beginning to push inside, I lick his fingers, whimpering loudly when he slams all the way in. Not moving, he now takes his hand and wraps it around my front, using his fingers to tweak my nipples, eliciting more nonsense from my mouth. I'm so consumed with the pleasure he's giving me, it feels as if nothing and no one else exists but him and me. Righting himself, he latches onto each hip, pulls out and pushes back inside powerfully, so much so that my knuckles and fingertips are white from holding on tightly to the wood of the headboard.

Using his pelvis, he rolls and probes and prods my insides launching me right over the precipice into oblivion. Unable to hold myself up any longer, I drop to my elbows, my forehead buried in the pillow. I'm barely coherent when I feel him thrust in firmly not once but twice more before a scream leaves his lips as he collapses on top of me, his weight forcing my body into the mattress. Even though he's muscular and heavy, I love the feeling of his body pressed flush against mine. I can feel his chest move as he pants for air and the trembling of his body. All too quickly, he drops a kiss to the back of my neck and rolls off of me.

"I love you so much, Elena."

"And I you, my love," I whisper, rolling over to find my home in his arms as always.

* * *

After graduation, the two of us considered what we should do next. He wanted to train to compete in the Olympics. Yet he was plagued with an unfamiliar self doubt as to whether he is an Olympic caliber athlete. He had offers to coach in college but he loved kids and wanted to work with them. In the end, he chose a job that would allow him pursue both of his loves. Accepting a job at an elementary school in our home town of Albuquerque allowed him to do just that. At the same time, he ramped up his rigorous training schedule with an eye on reaching the next year's Olympic trials.

Another beautiful facet of Damon's character broke through when he was working with the children. He loved each and everyone of them as if they were our own. There were no stars and no criticisms for lack of ability. All he wanted was for each of his kids to try their hardest. Soon Damon became known as someone who genuinely cared for his charges. Often the children would come to Damon if they needed advice and my saint of a husband made time for each and everyone of them. The children trust Damon implicitly, often bringing their grievances to him, whether real or imagined. Somehow he always makes the time to give each one the attention they deserve. Never did he fail to treat their concerns as if it was the most important matter in the world.

"Sweetheart, are you okay?" I ask when he comes into the house puffing and short of breath.

"Yeah, I guess I just overdid it today. I'm going to shower and lay down for awhile." Walking over to him, I cup his face with my palms and look into his eyes.

"Are you sure it's nothing?"

"I'm fine baby." He presses a sweet kiss to my lips before walking slowly up the stairs and into our room. For whatever reason, I can't shake the nagging feeling that something is bothering him. If there is anything, it seems pretty obvious that he isn't ready to share it just yet. When I go upstairs to check on him, I find him sound asleep on the bed. Smiling, I tip toe over to him and press a wispy kiss to his forehead before grabbing the afghan at the foot of the bed and covering him up with it. I sneak back out of our room, pulling the door closed behind me.

* * *

The next few days pass uneventfully. Damon continues to train, wearing his 'lucky shoes' in hopes to make the upcoming Olympic trials. It's been his dream for almost as long as I've known him. Today he's running in a race through the foothills of Albuquerque. It's an annual charity event, the winner getting to donate a thousand dollars to the charity of their choice. Coach Saltzman and his wife Jenna are waiting with me near the finish line. Although Ric coaches high school track, while Damon is the grade school track teacher, they've become quite close. He always finds time to help my man with his training. When I hear Damon's dad's voice I turn around, giving him a hug.

"I'm so glad you made it."

"Hello Ric," Damon's father greets him, shaking his hand. Just as I'm about to greet Damon's mom, Maggie, I see him running down the track out of the corner of my eye. Smiling widely, I start cheering him on wildly. My excitement turns to anxiety when he collapses just after reaching the finish line. Fear surges through my being when I see him clutching his chest. Pushing aside the crowd, I run to him.

"Damon?" Fear erupts inside of me when I see how he's struggling to catch his breath. So much so that one of the on site ambulance EMT's runs over, calling immediately for his partner to bring some oxygen for him. I can only stand back and let them do their jobs to help him. When I feel hands on my shoulders, I jump till I see that it's his dad. The fear visible in his eyes mirrors my own. Once they load him on the stretcher, I take his hand, walking with him to the ambulance. Fortunately they don't put up a fuss when I ask to ride with them. He's given a battery of tests, chest X rays, CT scan and lab work. Thankfully he's no longer gasping for breath.

His doctor questions him and Damon finally admits that he woke up a few mornings ago with a painfully swollen groin. A urologist is called in to come to speak with us. After reviewing his chart and test results, he gives us the devastating news that Damon has testicular cancer. I don't even recognize the screams as my own, tears accompanying the deep visceral pain I feel. As soon as consents are signed, he's wheeled into surgery.

Barely holding it together, my dad holds me in his arms. Each and every time I look at the clock, only seconds have passed. Minutes pass like hours till finally Dr. Fell and Dr. Laughlin come into the room, delivering the worst possible news that his cancer is already widely metastasized.

"How long?" I blurt out, tears cascading down my face.

"Six months maybe?"

"Oh my God," I whisper. When my knees weaken, my dad catches my fall, collapsing to the floor with me.

"I can't live without him!?" I blubber, my words barely coherent.

"I can't begin to imagine how you hurt inside, sweetheart, but we have to be strong for him." Nodding, I take several deep breaths.

"Can I see him?"

"He's in recovery right now. As soon as he gets into a room, you can see him."

"What now?"

"Chemo and radiation could possibly buy you more time. His cancer is all over his abdomen and into his lungs. We'll need to focus on pain control too." After answering all of our questions, they leave us alone. Maybe an hour later, we're taken to the waiting room on Damon's floor. When they finally let me see him, I gasp because he's so pale and has a tube coming out of his nose. Looking around, I'm momentarily hypnotized by the blood dropping into his veins. Swallowing thickly, I walk over to the bedside, pressing a kiss to his pale lips. Taking his hand in mine, I pull up a chair and hold it to me as if it were a lifeline. With my eyes getting heavy, I lay my head down, still clutching his hand. When I feel something in my hair, I wake up and raise my eyes to meet his. Somehow, my man finds a smile for me.

"Welcome back," I say softly, standing up to drop a kiss to his dry lips. I put the nurse light on and ask if he can have something to moisten them. She gives me just a scant amount of ice chips. Taking the spoon, I place a couple of them in his awaiting mouth.

"Elena, we need to talk about this."

"Not now, not today, please, Damon?" Although I don't miss the sadness in his eyes, he pats the bed next to him, grimacing tightly when he slides over to make room for me. I snuggle into his side, relaxing immediately when he wraps me in his arms. When I feel him kissing the top of my head, I close my eyes and drift off to sleep.

* * *

"Have you seen or heard from Damon?"

"No Elena, I haven't. Why?"

"He left hours ago. He isn't answering my calls or texts. I'm worried about him, Stefan."

"Do you want me to try to find him?"

"If he isn't home in the next hour, I'll call you back okay?"

"No, Elena. I'm going to go to look for him... Wait, he just pulled into my driveway. I'll have him call you back."

"Thank Christ. Send him home when he's done with you, please?"

"I will. Bye now," he says, clicking off the phone.

* * *

I've been on pins and needles all afternoon wondering what's he's been up to. It's not like Damon to just disappear without a word like this. He's been quite depressed since his diagnosis, his habitual smile is lacking its warmth whereas before it was natural and heartfelt. It kills me to see him lose his indomitable spirit, it being one of things that made me fall in love with him. As hard as it is, I've really tried to be strong for him. On top of everything else, he has to give up his goal of representing our country in the Olympic games. When he's sleeping or I'm here alone, I tend to fall apart too.

"Where were you?" I ask, running to him when he steps into the house.

"I'm sorry, Elena. I should've called."

"What's going on, Damon?"

"I drove up to the two mile mountains. I parked my car near the edge of a cliff. All I could think of was how much agony I'm putting you and everyone we love through. I wanted it over," he admits, his eyes never leaving mine.

"I even went so far as to release the emergency brake and rev the engine. And then if by some miracle, I imagined what my kids at school would think if I gave up after always encouraging them to try their hardest. What kind of legacy would my suicide leave? What would that say about me as a man? I just don't want them to remember me as a quitter, Elena," he says softly, reaching up to quickly wipe away the tears that are beginning to form.

"Damon?" I stutter, shock turning to relief that he's sitting beside me now.

"I want to dedicate whatever time I have left to my kids." Unable to say anything, I throw my arms around his neck, releasing a breath when he puts his arms around me and presses a kiss to the crown of my head.

"I'm so ashamed of myself for even considering such a thing. I said a little prayer and my fears stilled and that's when I turned around to come home. I love you so much, I couldn't do that to you either." Pulling back, I cradle his face with my palms and kiss him like it's our first kiss.

"I love you so much, Damon." Although weak, he leads me into our bedroom where we lose ourselves in each other. Knowing there won't be many more moments like this, I cherish every thrust of his hips and every suckle of his lips on my breasts.

* * *

Damon immersed himself, soul, body and mind into coaching his kids. He even added spots on the team for some of the handicapped children that attended his school. He had a foul line watcher and an equipment watcher. He had tee shirts made for each of the children and handed out homemade ribbons, awarding them for such things as putting forth their best effort or even just showing up when they weren't feeling well. I often helped him make them. Soon we were receiving letters from the children's parents, praising Damon for doing so much for their children, making them feel important and enhancing their sense of self worth.

One letter from a single mother described how she had such a hard time getting her boy out of bed and out of the door on school days. And now with Damon as his coach, he's excited to come to school. We received many such letters and each one warmed our hearts.

"How's my baby?" he asks, placing his hands on my now noticeable bump. His eyes light up whenever he talks about our child. Although not unheard of, our doctor told us we were very lucky to have gotten pregnant given Damon's cancer diagnosis. We're just praying for Damon to be able to hang on long enough to see and hold his child. After a routine visit to his oncologist, tests confirmed that his cancer has now spread to his neck and into his brain which explains the headaches he's been plagued with. Even though he has to be in severe pain, his doctors and co-workers and all of us who love him continue to be amazed and astounded by his strength and perseverance. When the doctor suggested pain injections, he refused saying they made his head too fuzzy and he wanted to be responsive to me and to the children for as long as he can. In private, his doctor told me that Damon is the most unselfish person he's ever had the pleasure of knowing.

As the holiday season nears, he's still fighting with everything in him. I've never been more proud of the man I married. Despite unrelenting nausea and indeed severe pain and steadily declining stamina, he continued to supervise the kids till the track season was over. He still went to the school everyday to help the PE coach. He just needed the connection with the children.

December fifteenth arrived just like any other day except on this day, Damon collapsed at the school. Barely conscious when he was loaded into the awaiting ambulance, he joked with the attendants to turn on the flashing lights, so his kids would know he was leaving the school in style. I was now into my eighth month of pregnancy. My husband has already outlived his predicted demise by nearly six months. I begged our doctor to induce my labor so Damon could hold his children before he leaves this mortal shore.

Given our dire situation, Dr. Timmons agreed. Although Damon was too weak to be in the delivery room, both my mother and his mother were with me when our twins were born. It's now just a few days before Christmas. Damon's parents decorated his hospital room with a tree and pretty lights. I took the time to make his room as festive as was allowed. Even though his immune system is weakened, I insisted that they let us bring in a real tree and a poinsettia plant. He's much too thin and cachectic-looking but his eyes still twinkle whenever he opens them.

I'm sitting in a chair next to his bedside, reading all the Christmas cards and well wishes from the kids at the school. Although I know he's in agony, his pain unrelenting, he tries to get by taking as little pain medication as possible insisting that he wants to be with me for as long as he's able. With a little help from our family, I climb onto his bed beside him. My mom places Damon Joseph Salvatore Jr. in one of his arms while his mom places Sally Kay Salvatore in the other. He raises his tear-filled eyes to mine, thanking me profusely for giving him such a gift. Even though he doesn't want to take his eyes off of them for even a moment, he does raise them for me. We take picture after picture, his smile, although weak is still as bright as ever. I've never seen such a sense of peace about him.

He presses a kiss to each of their heads and tells them over and over how much he loves them. It's only when I see tears begin to form in his eyes that I cry too. It's all so unfair, he's the kindest man that I've ever known. After the babies are taken back to the nursery, I wrap him in my arms. Knowing that my time with him is ending quickly, I hold him even tighter. When he raises his eyes to meet mine, I can see that he wants to tell me something.

"Elena?"

"What is it sweetheart?"

"Please..., I want to go home," he pants, his now dimming blue eyes pleading. And how can I deny him that? Nodding, I wipe away the tears pricking at my eyes before picking up the call button. I give it a push, summoning the nurse to his room.

"Did you need something Mrs. Salvatore?" she asks.

"Can you please call Damon's doctor? He wants to go home and I want to give him that." She shakes her head vigorously and I can tell that Damon's courage has affected her too. Tomorrow is Christmas eve and even though we're sad beyond measure, I did deck out the house with a tree and the all the trimmings too.

The next morning, although barely conscious, he smiles when he's wheeled into our home. Being that he's all the skin and bones, the EMT's carefully lift him onto our bed. The hospice nurses arranged for the home oxygen concentrator that's sitting next to the bed. Once the nurse gives him some pain medication, I place the babies on either side of him. Although he's as weak as they are, he still tries to smile and snuggle them close. Grabbing my video camera, I record quite a bit of footage before picking up my phone to snap even more pictures. Realistically I know that I'll never have enough pictures of him and them together. When they're old enough to understand, I want them to know how hard their daddy fought to live long enough to be able to hold them in his arms.

Tonight it's me who wraps him in my own arms. His breathing is more labored this evening so the nurse switches him to an oxygen mask after giving him some morphine to ease his struggled breathing and some atropine to help with the so-called 'death rattle'. In and out of consciousness, he's too weak to talk so he just looks at me trying to force a smile. Knowing that my tears on the cusp of falling freely, I hold on. Although it's the hardest thing I've ever done, I know that I need to be strong for him.

When I feel his skeletal fingers lace with mine, it's then that my tears break through the barricade, falling unbidden down my cheeks. Using all of his strength, he pulls his mask off and leans over, joining both our lips and our tears. When I break the connection, I slip the mask back on his face. Knowing it's almost time and not wanting to leave his side even for a few seconds, I yell aloud for our family to come quickly. And it's as if he knows we're all here, he looks around, his eyes falling on each one of us for a few seconds. Lastly he turns to me, his eyes never leaving mine till they drop shut for the final time when he takes his last breath...

* * *

In the months that followed his Christmas eve death, the school and the kids he loved so much reached out to me. They wanted to find a way to honor Damon's memory and his legacy. After much thought, the answer was really so simple. He loved to run. I couldn't think of a better way to honor his memory than to name a race after him. I took his 'lucky shoes' as he always called them and had them bronzed and placed atop a trophy stand. Each year an engraved plate with the winners name will be affixed to the stand of the trophy. It's displayed in a place of honor at the school he loved so much. The case is completely dedicated to Damon with his photos and awards visible for all to see.

"Ladies and Gentleman, let me introduce Mrs. Elena Salvatore and her children Sally and DJ. Elena is here with us today to present the award to Jackson Saltzman, the winner of the first annual 'Damon Salvatore Memorial 5K Run'.

"Thank you, Mr. Anderson." After shaking his hand, I take the microphone from him and step up to the podium. Our children are now three and half years old. DJ is the mirror image of his father. Sally also has his jet black hair and exotic blue eyes. I know that wherever he is, he's proud of all of us.

"Congratulations, Jackson." With his hand on one side of the trophy and mine on the other, we pose for a photograph for our local newspaper. Each winner will be given a miniature version of Damon's shoes as well so they have their own trophy to display wherever they so choose.

"Thank you, Mrs. Salvatore," Jackson remarks, shaking my hand animatedly. He bends down to shake DJ and Sally's hands too. They raise their eyes, smiling widely at me. Soon the rest of our family joins me to thank everyone for participating and the show of support. The love these people still have for my husband is both heartwarming and awe inspiring. Once the crowd disperses, my parents take the kids home while I get in my car to drive to the cemetery.

Slowly, I get out of my car, once again walking the solemn path to his gravesite. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and try to hold my tears inside but it's really a futile gesture. Each and every time I come here, which is often, tears spill from my eyes. Kneeling in front of him, I raise my hand, running my fingers along the scroll work that inexplicably spells his name and then his face that's etched in the granite. The picture is one of Damon crossing the finish line, his arms raised in victory and his lucky shoes adorning his feet. As sad as this place is, I always smile when I place my palm over his image emblazoned on the cold, gray stone.

"Sweetheart, I came to tell you about the race today. Ric's son won. I hope you saw that. The crowd was huge and there to honor your memory. I love you so much and not a day passes that I don't feel you inside of me. I want you to know that although I miss you everyday, the kids are growing and thriving. They know you, Damon. I have made sure of that. Even though Christmas has been bittersweet since, I choose to celebrate it because it's the day your pain ended and your new life began. Wherever you are, I want you to rest easily because we're okay, Damon. We're really okay." Swallowing thickly, I reach up to wipe the tears from my eyes. After leaning forward to press a kiss to his face, I stand up. Sucking in a deep shuddering breath, I hold onto the stone that bears his name till I steady myself.

"Goodbye, Damon." And as if I'm waiting for an answer, an errant breeze suddenly whips up. With a smile breaking out on my lips, I slowly walk away, leaving a piece of both my heart and my soul with him for now and for always.

 _'Some infinities are bigger than other infinities.. I cannot tell you how grateful I am for our little infinity'._

* * *

 _Biting nails, Kate.._

 _I do have personal experience with death at Christmas time. My mom died on 12/22 from a catastrophic head injury after a fall. My own daughter, Sally, was born 43 days after she died, thus the name of Damon's daughter._

 _This is also based on a young man named John Baker, who died several decades ago. He didn't have a wife or children, nor did he have a race named in his honor but he was an inspiration to those who knew him all the same._

 _End quote courtesy of John Green._

 _Synopsis courtesy of President Abraham Lincoln._

 _Thank you Eva for your help with this and with all of my stories. I love you dearly._

 _And do check out my other stories, 'Rainy Days and Mondays', 'Tears in Heaven', 'It Came Upon a Midnight Clear' and 'When You Wish Upon a Star'. If you like stories in this vein, check out my one-shots, 'Love Story' and 'Where Are You Christmas'._

 _I'm going to bed now, I worked all night._ _As always stay safe and be aware. Have a wonderful day and *PLEASE REVIEW* and let me what you think. Night, night..._


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